“Billy will come after me,” Sue Ellen said, a tremor in her voice. “He won’t give up. And he has a lot of friends.”
“The shelter’s address isn’t listed anywhere. And there are safeguards.”
Hopefully, the brother hadn’t been quick enough to read the SUV’s license plate, but even then, no problem. Although the Ford Escape was Anne’s, since she drove it for fugitive apprehensions, her registration papers used the bail office as the address of record. Her own residence and phone number were unlisted.
Anne reached over and patted the woman’s leg. “You and your little boy are going to be fine.”
“We got away.” Sue Ellen’s chin lifted. “Me and my baby’ll start a new life. From scratch, but that’s all right. We’re free to make our own way.”
Tears stung Anne’s eyes. The woman had left behind everything. But rather than dwelling on her loss, she’d set her sights on building something new.
That truly was courage. In the light of this shining example, could Anne be any less brave?
Ben was her man, her submissive. It was her job to provide what he needed. To do that, she had to be brave enough to dig deep and hear what he had to say.
Chapter Twenty-One
On Saturday, Ben followed Mistress Anne up the Shadowlands spiral staircase, admiring the stiletto boots that barely showed under the rear of her black skirt. In the front, her skirt split almost to her crotch, giving tantalizing glimpses of her lightly tanned thighs.
Her black stretchy tank was his favorite—tight enough she went without a bra and her cleavage was emphasized by the sheer black lace around the neckline. Her outfit looked even sexier now that she’d removed the gold-trimmed vest she’d worn as a dungeon monitor.
How did she manage to look like a wet dream and still deliver that gut-clenching sense of menace?
Even Ghost, who was manning the security guard desk tonight, had given her a respectful look.
Ben reached the top and followed her down a quiet hall. Downstairs was where all the action was, right? “Why upstairs?” he wondered under his breath. Did she not want to be seen with him? Aside from not being her normal choice, he wasn’t a particularly good slave either.
Although he hadn’t spoken loudly, she answered. “Because you shouldn’t have to deal with the discomfort of scening in public on top of the nasty things that I want to do to you.”
Jesus. His jeans were way too fucking uncomfortable now.
She stopped at a door and let him open it for her—a habit he liked. She might be magnificently dominant and one of the deadliest women he knew, but she enjoyed letting him behave like a gentleman.
Wasn’t there an old saying about the perfect woman being a lady in public and a whore in the bedroom?
Anne was a lady in public and a ballbuster—literally—in private.
With a smile, she trailed her hand over his bare chest as she walked past. “And, since I don’t indulge myself for all to see, the privacy is for me as well.”
Indulge. Refined language that meant he’d get to go down on her or fuck her.
A private room had advantages without a doubt.
He closed the door behind him and checked out the surroundings. Sure wasn’t the western room they’d used before, but more like the clichéd “harem” décor seen in old black-and-white movies.
Of course, the Shadowlands took the theme to a whole new level.
Opulent. Lavish. Darkly erotic.
Showcased in the center was a mahogany-fretworked canopy. Its golden draperies half-concealed a wide lounge.
Ben looked up. The ceiling was painted maroon and stenciled with elaborate designs. Under his bare feet was a silky Oriental carpet in golds and reds. Amazing. The whole room sang of carnal heat—and his blood was picking up the tune.
At the door, Anne turned a dial, dimming the brass-and-amber candelabra lights on the metal-trimmed dresser.
As Ben checked out the X-shaped St. Andrew’s cross in one corner, his image in the ornate mirror on the wall duplicated his movements. Great—he could watch himself getting his ass beat.
He eyed Anne. “So…am I the sultan or the eunuch, Ma’am?”
“Well, Benjamin, let’s check.” She reached between his legs, fondled his solid erection, and cupped his balls.
The surprise was a shot of hi-test octane to his spine.
“Mmm.” Her appreciative hum made his chest expand. “You’re definitely not a eunuch. I do believe all your equipment is functioning nicely.”
His blood pressure rose. If she kept stroking him like that, he’d show her every function he had.
Then she gave his testicles a toe-curling squeeze and moved away to set her toy bag on an ebonized-wood Moroccan chest. “Strip off the jeans, please, Benjamin. Then lie down on the chaise longue there.”
“No restraints, Ma’am?” He could try the bondage shit. He would. For her.
“Not this time.” As she pulled two floggers and a short, ugly black whip from her bag, her half-smile was…worrisome. “I don’t think you’ll move a muscle after I begin.”
His feet halted at that. In fact, his gas pedal was stuck on empty until she jerked her chin at the chaise.
Fuck, she was going to mess with him all right.
Yet, as he walked across the room and drew in slow, deep breaths, his mind eased into acceptance, sliding down into a quiet place that was both erotic as hell and almost meditative. The combination was unsettling. She’d hurt him in a way that wasn’t…quite…pain, dealing out sensations that’d transmuted inside him into something new. Something fucking carnal.
Sometimes the burn was that of an intense workout, one where his muscles were pumped and screaming to stop. He loved a good exercise rush—but working out never gave him a hard-on like this.
Or made him want to put his arms around the weights and kiss them senseless, to drive himself into—
“Ben.”
“Right. Sorry, Mistress.” Stripping didn’t take long since all he’d worn were jeans. He set them to one side and stretched out on the unusual furniture. Fairly comfortable. Wide enough for his shoulders. Even had an armrest on the right side.
A man had to wonder what’d happened to the second armrest.
At the St. Andrew’s cross, Anne was setting up her instruments of pain and pleasure. Then she dipped into her toy bag one more time, removing a pair of scissors, a towel, and a small brush and comb.
“You going to cut my hair?”
Both of her dimples showed. “That depends on your answer.”
He liked his hair, but… Man up, Haugen. “If my long hair bothers you, go ahead, Ma’am. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had short hair.”
Her laugh was low. “I wasn’t talking about the hair on your head, guard dog.”
Oh shit. He managed not to cover up his package. Barely. “You want to shave my dick?”
“Actually, yes.” Her smile widened. “You see, Benjamin”—she sat on the lounge beside him—“I object to having hair in my face, which means you lose out on nice long blowjobs, which I enjoy giving.”
She’d suck his dick? And like it? He inhaled slowly. “I thought Dominants weren’t into offering BJ’s.”
Puzzlement drew her brows together before she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ben. You’ve been part of the Shadowlands so long, I sometimes forget you’ve been stuck out in the entry. You’re right to a degree. Some Doms believe going down on their submissive decreases their power.” She took his hand and sucked on one finger.
His cock did a victory dance.
“Some Dommes think that, done right, the person giving head is the one in control.”
His cock sure as hell agreed. “Is that why you grab my hair when I go down on you? To make sure I know who’s in charge?”
“You’ve very perceptive.”
And he sure wasn’t missing the point of the discussion. She’d give him a blowjob if he lost his curlies. He looked at her soft lips…imagined them elsewhere�
�and couldn’t come up with the hint of an argument. “I’m in, Ma’am. Whatever you want.”
“Very good. Thank you, Ben.” She slapped his leg lightly. “Open up, now.”
As he spread his legs, he frowned. “No razor?”
“I’m content with trimmed hair, and we won’t risk irritated skin.” After putting a towel between his thighs, she picked up the dauntingly pointed scissors. “I trust you can keep from moving?”
He could feel his balls shriveling. “Oh yeah, Ma’am.”
As Anne cut his curly hair to an even half-inch, her concentration—and competence—was damned reassuring.
After a minute, he relaxed, listened to the low, exotic Moroccan music and drew in the sandalwood-scented air. Z didn’t miss a trick, did he?
Each time Anne moved his cock and balls with her soft hands, Ben felt like a pampered sultan being tended by one of his harem girls.
Of course, if he shared that with the Mistress, he’d end up a eunuch.
“There. You look lovely. And even bigger,” she said.
He glanced down. The shortening of the forest made his dick appear another inch or two longer. “Want to…ah…check your work, Ma’am? Make sure it’s short enough.”
Yeah, her laugh went right to his cock.
“Sorry, Benjamin, but you have to earn a blowjob. Tonight, if you take everything I give you, I’ll suck you most of the way off—and let you finish by taking me as roughly as you want.”
Totally his fantasy. His breath wedged in his chest. “That’s a hell of an incentive.”
She pointed to the St. Andrew’s cross. “Then get over there, grab the pegs, and hang on.”
As he crossed the room, his dick registered the added wind factor, but then his brain got caught up in other thoughts. Like she planned to beat on him. Hard.
Anticipation made his blood churn…and his mouth dry. His hands closed around the pegs, and he braced.
The first blows of her flogger were nothing as she teased the falls over his skin, tickling and stroking. Mild hand swats were a pleasant punctuation.
Then the strands hit more forcefully. Not a problem. He liked her thumpy floggers. They reminded him of a light artillery barrage.
But when she upped the game and started to really nail him, his shoulders and back and ass began to sting. His skin tightened, the sensation changing from a light to a nasty sunburn.
Yet, his cock persistently pointed toward the ceiling.
The entire room began to feel like the Grand Bazaar under a hot noon sun, and he broke out in a sweat.
“That was the easy stuff, Benjamin,” she said quietly. “Now your test begins.”
Easy? Fuck. He’d thought she’d be about ready to finish. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Bend and spread your cheeks.”
“What?” His glutes tensed, and he turned. Anal? “I told you I wouldn’t—”
“Your restriction was because”—she tilted her head and quoted him—“‘I don’t know you well enough for whips or anal shit.’ I’d say that’s changed.”
Well, hell.
She smiled slightly, reading his acceptance. “Your ass is mine, my tiger. But—if it helps, I’m not going to don a fake cock and pound you with it.”
“There’s a relief.”
His sarcasm got him a swift slap of the flogger, far too close to his balls.
He barely bit back a bark of concern. After a second, he bowed his head; he’d been out of line. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
She stepped nearer and put her palm on his cheek. “I know this worries you. But I’m going to use a small anal plug. We’ll talk about it afterward. If it’s truly a problem after you try it, I’ll respect your wishes.”
He let out the lungful of air he’d held. Couldn’t get much fairer than that—aside from not doing it at all. But, she probably knew her way around a man’s body better than he did, even if he lived in one.
And hey, he had a blowjob waiting at the end of this. “Go for it, Ma’am.”
She rocked up and gave him a long, luscious, appreciative kiss. “You’re a brave man, Haugen.”
Rangers lead the way.
Yet, her words, “You’re a brave man,” sent a slow slide of satisfaction through him. As he turned, he wondered if the Mistress realized she never called him boy as she had with her slaves. Her previous slaves.
Bending, he gripped his ass cheeks and opened. Prostate exam, here we go.
Cool liquid drizzled over his crack. Something pressed against his backhole.
Fuck.
“Push back against it, my tiger. It’ll go in easier.”
Gritting his teeth hard enough to bust a mouthful of molars, he obeyed and felt the damn thing slide in. He’d glimpsed it as he’d turned—the size of a fat man’s thumb—so why did it feel big as a fucking fist?
Burning. Stretching. Finally, it settled into position with a plop. He had a plug in his ass.
“Thank you for taking that, Benjamin. Taking it for me,” she said softly, her hands caressing his hips and thighs. “It means a lot to me.”
He exhaled. The feeling of her gentle hands on his skin and the sheer…ownership…of her claiming that forbidden place sent a heated warmth through him.
He was hers. That was right. The way it should be.
Did she realize possessiveness went both ways?
“Stand and hold the pegs again,” she instructed.
As he straightened, he had to grit his teeth. The damn invader sat in his backhole like he’d—
She reached around him and gripped his cock with her slicked fingers.
Oh shit, yeah. His hands clenched the pegs convulsively.
Her breasts were against his back, her hips against his ass. Her firm fingers slid up and down his dick, over and over. And then she moved a hand down between their bodies and wiggled the ass plug.
Every single fucking nerve back there wakened with a roar. “Fuck!” As the urgent, needy throbbing consumed his entire groin area, he almost came right then and there.
“Yes, I rather thought you might enjoy this.”
She waggled it again.
He made an indescribable noise as he fought back his release.
She laughed. Fucking sadist.
Her fingers pumped his shaft, then gripped his balls, squeezing mercilessly enough to turn his shortened curlies gray—and yet, the damn thing in his ass made her every sadistic action feel like shiny-bright pleasure.
She stepped back and picked up the other flogger, the vicious one that stung like hell. Even as she started, his cock was pulsing in time with his ass and balls in a carnal concerto. And the stinging blows from the flogger were amping up the volume.
Every stroke seemed to hit in rhythm with his pulse—and the throbbing of his dick. More and more…and as his brain filled with smoke, the world slid sideways until each blow was a hot splash of sensation sliding down his back right to his straining shaft.
“Don’t you just look pretty, all glassy-eyed.”
He realized she’d turned him around. Had put her hands on his face.
Her eyes were bright, sunlight through a gray sky. Pink flushed her high cheekbones. Her hair had escaped the braid to create fine tendrils over her temples and neck. Her shoulders and arms were pumped up…and he could see her bunched nipples beneath her elastic tank.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said. Thought he said. Wasn’t sure.
Her eyes half closed, and her voice came out a low murmur. “You’re something, Benjamin.” She caressed his cheek and kissed him so sweetly, so fucking lovingly that his heart did a slow somersault.
Damn, he loved her.
But then she moved back. “Drink this, and we’ll move on to other things.” She curled his fingers around the bottle and helped him hold it.
His head wasn’t…quite…in the game, but his body was demanding those other things. Was screaming, sex, sex, sex, with every pulsation of his cock, every throb of his asshole. He wanted to go down on her, to
taste her sweetness, inhale her musk, run his tongue over—
She pinched his arm. “Drink, Benjamin.”
As he gulped the cool liquid, his head cleared. Slightly.
But seeing her strip right down to naked yanked his mind into sharp focus. She even released her hair and left it loose the way he liked it. Oh yeah.
When she stepped to the lounge and crooked her fingers, he was right there with her, first sitting, then letting her push him onto his back.
In this position, the fucking anal plug felt bigger. Dammit.
Yet, the discomfort disappeared when Anne bent and gave him his first treat—a long, slow kiss.
Sometimes she kissed like a Domme—controlling and teasing—and sometimes she was all soft, generous woman. Damned if he didn’t savor both. Today, he got the sweet as if to provide a contrast to the sadistic, flogger-wielding Mistress.
Still kissing him, she sat on the lounge. When she lifted her head, he expected her to cut to the chase. Instead, she nuzzled his cheek. Then his jaw. His neck. So very gentle, and he realized she was kissing each white scar. So sweetly.
He closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensations—despite the increasing demands of his dick. Warm lips, then she gave him a sharp bite at the base of his neck.
He’d have a mark there in the morning—but compared to the way his back burned and his cock throbbed, the pain barely registered. “Ow,” he murmured and heard her chuckle.
Trailed by the cool silk of her hair, her lips moseyed down his body, over his collarbone, and down to tease his nipples. She kissed his belly. And moved down. When she reached his hips, his heart rammed into overdrive.
Wet and slick, her tongue licked up his cock and traced a single vein’s twisted path from base to helmet before trailing back down again. Each exhalation bathed him with a puff of warmth. She was going to kill him.
When she slid him into her hot, hot mouth, he had to fist the cushion to keep from losing all control.
Even as she engulfed him in heat, her tongue roamed over him, around him. The skin of his cock felt too fucking tight, the pressure growing, even as she took him deeper.
Servicing the Target Page 26
